Beam Me Up
by The Little Monster 1024
Summary: "Let me be lighter, I'm tired of bein' a fighter."


**Beam Me Up**

**AN: Long time since I've written. I hope this doesn't completely suck.**

**Inspired by P!nk's song- Beam Me Up.**

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"_Let me be lighter, _

_I'm tired of being a fighter"_

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She dreams of a better world. A parallel universe where the sun still shines, where the soft grass tickles the little bare feet of their little boys. Nothing is broken, the pain is gone. Soft music plays in the background as their children run around happily, smiling easy little smiles. She looks at him and as usual, he's already looking at her with that adoring gaze.

She'd give anything to be there. For some unknown force to beam her up to that universe where her world is perfect again. She'd be happy with just a minute. She has no clue what she'd say, probably just hold his face in her hands again, just feel his arms around her one last time. Or she'd just stare, happy to be able to look into those eyes that she loved so much. She'd give anything for it, anything to just be lighter, to have that rock lifted from her chest. A minute would be enough.

The day he died- she would never, ever forget it. The death of her mother had hurt, the pain she felt then- she never thought that she could hurt like that again. Oh, she was so wrong. Seeing him,seeing her Castle laying on the cold slab in the Chicago morgue, drained the life out of her. She couldn't stand. She couldn't breathe. The crime scene photos of him lying in that shallow grave made her sick. All she could think of was Castle leaving earlier in the week for his book tour, of their children playing at home with her father, completely unaware that their lives would never be the same, that kissing their Daddy goodbye over breakfast was the last time they'd ever see him.

When he'd left for the book tour, she'd been a little nervous, though she'd never admit it. It was the first time she'd ever been alone with their boys. She knew she could handle it, but no doubt it would be a little difficult. Atticus was four years old and just like his father; he was loud and playful, full of love and energy. Little Wyatt was going through his terrible twos, turning their sweet little snuggler into a hellion in the blink of an eye. She had her work cut out for her, but Castle had had faith in her. He'd kissed her gently and left, promising presents when he returned.

Everything was going great until he stopped answering her calls on Tuesday.

On Wednesday she was a little worried.

Wednesday night she called Gina.

They found his body Thursday morning.

The knock on the door awoke her from a deep sleep. She had cursed as she threw the covers back and pulled her robe on. She remembered it all so clearly- the chill that ran through the loft as she padded toward the door, her confusion as she grabbed the doorknob, not really used to visitors at four in the morning.

When the two officers looked at her from the doorway, her stomach dropped. She'd made enough of these trips in her life. She'd met with so many devastated spouses, offered her condolences to so many, she'd never thought she'd be one of them.

They had told her that it was a mugging gone wrong. Her stubbornness, her instinct- it told her not to believe that, that Richard Castle wouldn't die for something as small and...simple as a mugging. But the evidence, however, told a different story. There was no denying that it was true. Apparently the guy had asked for Castle's wallet. When he gave it to him, the guy thought he was pulling out his phone, so he shot him. He left him to die on the cold sidewalk.

She still saw the crime scene photos when she closed her eyes, even months later. It'd been four months since she told her boys they'd never seen their father again. They'd taken it better than she'd expected at first- they didn't really understand. And when they asked for Daddy's bedtime stories, it was her who couldn't hold back the tears. Wyatt was the first one, even at the young little age of two, to realize that Daddy wasn't coming back. Another Beckett trait, she had thought, negativity, accepting the truth. Atticus, like his father that he longed for so much, still held so much hope. Every time the front door opened or he heard her typing on her laptop, his head would jerk hope, hoping to see the smiling face of their Daddy.

Watching her babies suffer was the hardest part of it all. The cold she felt at night from the loss of his arms went through her like a sharp pain. All of the extra space in their bathtub without him nestled in behind her made her body ache. But watching her sons go through the loss of a parent, was the worse pain she'd ever felt. She'd gotten to grow up with her mother, have a happy, healthy childhood- she'd carry memories of her mother for the rest of her life. Her kids, they wouldn't be as lucky. Wyatt would never be able to remember his father, only recognize his face from book jackets and family photos.

They wouldn't get to grow up with an amazing father. They wouldn't get to feel his unwavering love, the warmth about him. They wouldn't get to hear his beautiful, loving words.

She wished, more than anything, that she could be beamed up. For just a moment. Because she was so tired of being a fighter.

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**What'd ya think?**


End file.
